Soul Hunting
by Abby Ebon
Summary: AU. Aliens are invading, Sam Winchester sees it happening in Stanford every day. Only he doesn't know what is happening to people, not exactly, until it's almost too late. Dean and Sam get the word out, but John is missing; clues lead them to 'uncle' Jeb.
1. Chapter 1

**Soul ****Hunting**

_Abby Ebon _

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; Yes, you've read that summary right, there is nothing wrong with your eyes. This is indeed a _Supernatural/ The Host_ crossover, maybe the first of it's kind. Why am I writing this? Well, firstly, I recently read _The Host_ and then quite naturally went snooping about for the fandom sites. Obviously I stumbled over the knowledge that, yes, there will be a movie follow-up to _The Host_ book, and apparently there are two sequels on the way, _The Soul_ and _The Seeker_ – but, more importantly to the concept of this story, I stumbled over fan-made movie posters, guess what I found?

http : / / images2 .fanpop. com / image / photos / 11300000 / Host-Posters-the-host- 11303617-500-680 . jpg

_Sammy and Dean_…with Mel? Was my first thought.

Once I saw _that image_, I just couldn't forget it, because it had set me laughing my head right off, so I waved bye to my sanity and scribbled something up. You may think of this 'Alternate Universe' as a sort of '_if the Host had invaded Supernatural (before Supernatural started?)…'_ to start with, because it's really a '_before the Host_'...

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sam might not have noticed it even starting if he hadn't been at college. If he'd thought about alien invasions at all in those days, it was remembering the late night bad b-flicks with Dean when they were kids. Those had been almost home-like memories, good ones. Sam begrudged that those memories were now tainted with the truth. Aliens were real, but they'd snuck onto Earth, unlike in the movies, aliens they weren't loudly announcing their presence – in fact, unless you knew how to look for it, you just…just _wouldn't know_.

_They_ wouldn't even suspect, in the end – the normal people were being all but quietly conquered, but Sam? Sam had been _trained_ to notice the little differences between what was human, and what was clearly…_not_; he'd been trained, too, to fight back. It spooked him, Sam could admit it, to see students – people he knew – going into parties unsuspecting and coming out, _not right_.

It wasn't _obvious_, really, just something that made Sam take a second look once in a while – otherwise, well, otherwise it was easy to ignore, to dismiss. Half the time Sam thought he was just imagining it, because other then the people themselves acting off, there were no other _signs_.

He couldn't keep his mouth shut and pretend it wasn't happening, when something was – Sam wasn't that sort of person. He'd have to find out; have to do what he could to help. Sam just dreaded finding out what sort of monster was walking around the college, dressed up in human meat suits.

Paranormal happenings lift clues on the environment, like scars, nature silently protesting the wrongness of monsters.

Sam was too busy looking for _those_ clues, and not finding them, to think of anything else out there, stranger still then home-grown supernatural monsters. Hunting took a single minded intensity, almost _obsession_, that Sam simply didn't have time to look around at the people and think something so bizarre like '_aliens are invading earth'_ – no, Sam wasn't _that_ sort of crazy.

It was when Jess went to one of those parties (some sort of study session club Jess had argued at the time) – and _nothing_ he could say could change her mind – that Sam gritted his teeth and followed. He knew how vulnerable he was, going in with her, not knowing a _damn thing_ about the sort of monsters he was facing. Worse, he was alone – there would be no back-up. In a way, Sam was glad he'd been so stupid, because otherwise Sam would _never_ have figured it out.

His plan had been to tag along with Jess, use that as an excuse to snoop – and then, then get the _hell out_. Hopefully after uncovering a damned hidden in-front-of-your-face clue, or sign, to what the hell Sam should be prepared for while hunting. Because it was bad enough there were monsters, worse still would be calling in Dad and Dean with empty handed information. Sam was _good_ at following the clues to a logical conclusion, that he couldn't – in this case –was bothering the hell out of him.

Sam had never hunted alone, or been 'bait' without back-up, and maybe getting this information was risky, but it was important that Dad and Dean see that he had _something_ here. He used that as an excuse if he felt guilty or overly nervous. He was, after all, giving up the freedom of schooling.

"Welcome, would you like something to drink – a snack?" Sam jerked his head up at the softly spoken words, he hadn't heard the door hinges protest as they'd opened, but maybe _that_ was because he's guts felt twisted in knots. Jess had an answering smile; even as she started to speak she was honestly pleased to be here. Sam couldn't say the same.

"Oh, no, we ate before we came over; have you started already?" The woman shook her head, smiling, as she stepped aside for Jess and Sam. He'd done his research – thoroughly – her name was Elaina Yolen, she and her husband Ray had lived here most of their lives, their daughter Helen went to school with them, she'd been born here. There _shouldn't_ be any monsters trying to get them, it'd be too noticeable. Yet something had happened to them – was happening to them, Sam just didn't know what yet.

"No, no, you're right on time." Jess was swiftly reassured, as they were led to the living room. Sam glimpsed books in the next room, and wondered what kinds of books _those_ were as he tightened his grip on his book bag. He at least wanted to blend in with the goings on, though he knew he'd get no studying done tonight.

Once they were settled into the living room, Sam was relived and dismayed to see they weren't alone with the family. Six others were already bent over their work or chattering about some problem amiably. The relaxed air didn't go tensely quiet at their entrance as Sam half expected, one or two looked up and Jess was waved over to a friend of hers, Sam at her heels.

"I'm _so glad_ you made it, Jess." Wynne bounced in her seat, scooting over to make room for Jess as she got out her things and set them out on the table. It was peaceful here, nice even, some other time Sam wouldn't have minded just studying. He found himself fidgeting, unable to keep still.

He felt exposed and examined, it'd started as a tingling at the back of his neck, but now he was sure of it. Sam looked around, but no one was watching him. He tried to shove the feeling aside, feeling foolish for suspecting these people, thinking he had it wrong after all, he was only paranoid about nice people. It wasn't a good insight, that he expected people to be...well, not _too_ nice.

"Sam, why don't you come with me? It looks like you're having problems concentrating with your math; maybe another room would make you more comfortable?" Elaina suggested softly, Sam looked up – sure a blush was on his cheeks, to find Jess smirking smugly at him. Elaina's concerned tones were bringing Jess's point across, what nice people the Yolen's were, opening their home to students struggling to find safe study place, but Sam was suspicious all over again.

Without a word he picked up his things, knowing this was his chance to find something without being watched. Or they were going to attack him once he was alone, and find themselves surprised by how badly they'd misjudged him. Sam relaxed a little, seeing that the den of books wasn't entirely unoccupied, another student studied there, head bent over a history text.

Nothing else happened, until Sam went home with Jess, turned off the apartment lights and saw her eyes gleaming with a metallic ring around the iris because of reflected light from a street lamp outside. He knew then that _something_ had happened, though he didn't know what, he could guess. They'd separated them without Sam so much as protesting, and then with Jess alone…Sam felt sick, as he lay in bed.

Jess, but not-Jess, slept on beside him obvious. Her neck turned, and Sam saw the scar that was dangerously close to the brain – it certainly had never been there before, it should have been fresh, but it was healed over. Sam crept out the bed, leaving Jess sleeping on unaware. He felt like a sneak in his own home, a betrayer, as he went for his phone, Dad's number – and Dean's – dancing in front of his eyes. He dialed without thinking, and on the first ring, Dean picked up.

"Dad…?" It was Dean's number, and Sam was puzzled – shouldn't Dad be with Dean?

"Huh, no, it's…it's me." Sam felt awkward, and with Dean it was new. What else would Sam expect though? _He'd_ walked out.

"Sammy? Hey! How's it going?" Dean was enthusiastic, clearly willing to put everything on hold right then, and forget everything that had happened, if it meant Sam was…back.

"It's, uh, not good Dean. I think something's _happening_ here, it's just people are being strange – nice, but strange – and tonight I went to this study group with Jess and when we came back, I saw these weird metallic rings around the iris." Sam scrambled to explain, to prove to Dean he wasn't imagining things, proving it to himself as much as Dean. If he didn't tell Dean that Jess was a girl, when the name could be a guys – it was just as well to save time.

"What are the other signs?" Dean sounded single-minded, as if he'd already accepted the hunt, sunk under the mind-set; as if Dean was taking orders a lot more with Dad. Sam felt sick at the thought. He'd always hated how Dean was used by Dad.

"There aren't any." Sam whispered into the phone, wondering if Dean would laugh it off and tell him he was only being paranoid. His heart ached and pounded, waiting, he'd convince Dean somehow – _he had to_, Sam didn't want to be all alone here.

"I'm on my way." Dean didn't need any convincing, trusting wholeheartedly Sam's instincts when Sam himself had doubted. There was a relief in that knowledge, but Dean still didn't say good-byes, the click on the phone the only hint that Dean had hung up. Sam shook his head amused by the little habits his brother hadn't changed – might never change. It was more reassuring then Sam could ever explain to himself, let alone to Dean.

Sam slipped silently back into the room he shared – had shared – with Jess. As whatever or whoever was sleeping in that bed, wasn't Jess now. He'd packed a hunters kit and tucked it in the closet when he'd noticed things being …_off _with people, too kind, too forgiving to survive on this world.

"Sam?" He stiffened in dread, hearing the whispered words, and turned to the bed. Alien eyes with metallic silver rings peered back at him from a familiar face. "What are you doing?"

"Jess…I'm going to get _help_ for you, okay? You're…you're not yourself." Sam said in a rush, quick to back out toward the door, keeping Jess in sight as he walked away backwards.

"Sam? What are you doing – where are you going?" She looked confused and hurt, that lost expression pained him, even as Sam - not answering, shut the door between them, locking it from the outside because this was an old house turned into an apartment and had such oddities. Sam had to chance that whatever was possessing Jess might go out the bedroom window – but it wasn't likely, they were three floors up and there wasn't a fire-escape outside the bedroom window.

Sam headed for the fire-escape, in the kitchen was a door that led to a storage area and outside was the balcony and then the fire-escape down to the street. He'd call Dean again and tell him where to pick him up at, naturally, it was a bar. Dean would be there by morning, and all Sam had to do was wait it out in an all-night bar. It _should_ have been simple.

Sam suspected nothing until he tried to pay for his drink.

"It's free, sir." Sam raised an eyebrow as the bar tender pushed the money away with a grimace and a wary look. Sam didn't understand it until he realized everyone in the bar was eyeing him as if he might bite. It was chilling, but Sam didn't quite catch on that he was in trouble until a car pulled up and Sam looked out the window, hoping it was Dean, and then back at the people.

Every single one of them had a ring of reflected silver in their eyes. It was heart-pounding, _eerie_ like how cat eyes reflected light, but…but not.

"_What_ are you?" Sam asked hoarsely, because it was clear that they weren't normal – and theyknew he wasn't one of them. His question seemed to puzzle them, they were thinking about what to tell him, as if they'd never been _asked_ before what to call themselves.

"Souls, we are…lost souls." A woman found an answer, her features reflective and peaceful. There were soft murmurs of agreement, of praise. None of them argued with the comparison, not a one of them frowned in disagreement.

"So you aren't from around here, is what you're saying." Sam eyed the door, they were peaceful so far, but they weren't getting out of his way either, passively standing in his way. He wondered what they would do if he forced his way – it was better not to find out just yet, better to wait and find out what he could while he was here and they were talking.

"We have only recently migrated to this planet." The last two words caught in a loop in Sam's head, repeating over and over, _this planet_. The bar door opened, it wasn't Dean. It was…_the police_? Sam took a startled step back, making him look even guiltier when no one else moved, the rest were unsurprised. It was clear that _they_ had been waiting for…the law, but it seemed so impossible.

"You're going to have to come with us to the station." The nametag said 'Grayson' but the silver ring in his eyes said _not human_.

"I don't think so." His voice sounds strained, fear turning the words into a snarl – a growl of defiance. Around him aliens wearing the faces of people shuffle nervously away. There is no such hesitation in the eyes of the two aliens wearing the bodies of officers Grayson and Keyes.

Another car is pulling up, and Sam preys, because he has _never_ been so glad to recognize the Impala on sight. Headlights pierce the windows, and again all the aliens look toward the light as if they can't help themselves. Sam can only imagine what Dean sees, human shapes and alien eyes – and Sam, of course. Sam surrounded.

Dean doesn't stop in the parking lot; he slams on the gas and goes right on through the wall. Sam almost laughs at the wide eyed expressions, their shock so thick in the air Sam doesn't think they can fake it. Dean opens the passenger door, and the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun is the first thing Sam sees. It's a daunting, if welcome, sight.

"_Get in, Sam_ – the rest of you, whatever-you-are, get the _hell_ away from my little brother." Sam obeys, and frowning the bar attending aliens shuffle further away while not-Grayson and not-Keyes step between the brothers and the other not-humans, it's a clear message, to get to those behind them Dean is going to have to kill. Dean doesn't see it, but Sam does and more importantly – Sam understands even as he obeys Dean and gets in the Impala.

Dean reverses, after handing Sam the sawed-off, and kicks up dust as he spins out of the drive way. The silence only lasts until the bar winks out of sight in the rear-view mirror.

"Want to tell me what's going on, Sammy?" Dean asks softly, his voice giving way his fear for Sam.

"Aliens…." Sam says dead serious, it sounds stiff somehow – stupid, and he's half expecting Dean to laugh it off, but Dean only glances at him as if to reassure himself that Sam is still sitting there, and nods thoughtfully.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; I kind-of hate myself for this one; it makes me laugh too much for me to ever take it too seriously. Which is good, and bad...the bad?

"Aliens" -Sam (dead serious)

"_Seriously_, Sammy?" - Dean (rolling eyes, big brother is oh-so-mature-to-how-the-world-works)

"What?" -Sam (wide eyed it-could-happen)

"College rots your brains, huh?" -Dean (amused)

"Dean!" -Sam (annoyed and pouting)


	2. Chapter 2

**Soul ****Hunting**

_Abby Ebon _

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; much thanks must be given to_ undyinghunter _for inquiring after this story being updated and letting me ramble on about some of my ideas for Sam and Dean.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sam doesn't know how Dean does it, but he finds a motel that takes his ill-gotten money, and Sam has _never_ been so grateful for something so simply normal and common place as the economy at work. It's the little things like that that make all the difference, Sam thinks. Dean hasn't really changed, he's hair would be military short if not for the fact that he could not care less so long as it's out of his way. When it does, he'll cut it to be short, the spikes standing up like ruffled fur.

Dean looks like he could be a bad guy, a criminal, and maybe it's true that he earns that look, just a little, he pulls credit card scams – but Sam can't really think of that as wrong, it's credit cards companies that are responsible for ruining families because of fickle spending habits; those companies all but encourage that behavior, that debt.

Sam has seen a lot of monsters, who are evil or at least _morally_ wrong, but it's just somehow worse to see companies of people taking advantage of – using and abusing financially and inevitably emotionally and socially – their own kind, crimes against humanity are so often real people hurting real people. It just seems wrong, that, especially with what Sam and Dean and Dad have gone though to save these very same people, to kill the real monsters in the dark no one wants to see.

Dean also plays poker, for money, and sometimes he does it just for kicks, for the fun of it; other times, he needs the money and plays high risk. Sam thinks he's just that good at playing people, Dean knows people – he just does – he needs to in order to work.

The work that Dean does, 'the job' he calls it, is protecting people, risking his own life and limb to put down something that's hurting (and more often) killing people. Sam thinks that Dean has always known what Dad was doing, when they were growing up and Dean was practically raising Sam on his own, Sam thinks Dad told Dean before Dean should have known that there were real monsters in the real world and not just on the television, Sam though, he had to have Dean te_l_l him – he didn't know, didn't begin to suspect until things that should have added up to a 'real life' didn't.

His life wasn't how the television showed 'real life', television, Sam had known even then, was entertainment, but there was truth in lies, and so truth in it. He'd always suspected there was a reason for how _odd_ Dean sometimes was about shows about monsters, before Sam knew - how he'd roll his eyes and snort at a 'mistake' a monster made, how he outright changed the channel when girls went down the stairs in the dark, or when he didn't leave the room before the end - how he'd look outright pained when the monsters hinted at getting away and good guys died and sacrificed and bled – when Sam knew, well, Dean's reactions sort of made sense.

It was Dad that Dean saw as the slayer of monsters, the doer of good deeds, and the hero.

Sam could never quite agree, for Sam, Dean was the hero: he'd raised Sam while Dad single-mindedly went out after things that killed ordinary unsuspecting people. When Dad was supposed to be raising him, teaching him, it was Dean that did it –taught him to drive and defend himself and fire a gun without making him freak about it like Dad never failed to intimidate him, that blood was a bond between family – that it made them strong. It was Dean that fed Sam, that went out and bought clothes when his were tearing and outgrown, Dean that rebelled against Dad in small ways – giving him a forth of July, a Christmas, a birthday – Dean defined the word _big brother_, for Sam, Dean was family – and Dad was…practically a stranger.

A stranger that ran Sam's life – and ruled Dean, Dad was who Dean obeyed, he should have been the 'good son', and was in every way that Sam saw that counted – but Sam…Sam knew he was Dad's favorite, and there was something wrong with that – that Dad could love Sam, but treat Dean like a shadow servant.

Sam hated Dad's orders, and that Dean _obeyed_ without fail, without question. Dean did not even think to question Dad, or resent Sam. Sam hated himself, and hated and disobeyed Dad _for_ Dead.

Maybe if Sam showed him how, Dean would rebel, just once. But, no – he never did. Not even when Sam told Dad he was going to school – a real college – not when he walked away and Dad told him to never come back. Sam had no intention of doing so – but he'd thought, had hoped that…that Dean would come with him, would _follow_ him. Dean had raised him, and protected him like it was instinct and nature and the reason why he did the job, following in Dad's footsteps, protecting people to protect Sam.

Sam had realized that he had taken it for granted that Dean would follow him, and when he hadn't – Sam had hated Dad, for taking Dean away from where he belonged – at Sam's side. Sam had also realized that Dean had never really made the choice, Dad had made it and Dean had obeyed.

If Sam knew that if he ever forced Dean into of making such a choice, in Dean's eyes, it'd be all but betrayal of Dad and who Dean thought he was – how he defined himself.

Sam wasn't surprised then, when Dean called Dad first thing after finding a safe place.

"Dad," Dean started sitting on the mattress and staring at the television, "its Dean, Sam's with me. There aren't any signs, but everyone is acting like pod people," Dean gives a short and bitter bark of laughter, of course he doesn't _say_ that aliens are invading people's bodies and taking over minds – but he's thinking it.

"Call back. _Please_. I –we – need you on this one." Dean thumbs off the cell phone, and the silence seeps in-between them like a cold chill. Sam knows he should be saying something, but he doesn't – he can't.

Dean doesn't say a word either, but makes another call, knowing the number by heart.

"Bobby, hey, it's Dean." If Sam closes his eyes, and thinks '_of course'_ he can be forgiven. Dean is very capable of avoiding the obvious when he wants to be, it's how they've survived each other living in such close quarters of motel rooms and the Impala's interior.

"Yeah, I'm fine, really – I've got Sam with me, listen, I know this sounds crazy, but we have a hunt that's like that movie with pod people." Sam turns the television on, because he's curious – sure – but he doesn't want to be the nosy little brother, so he watches the television blankly, it's a news station, and the sound is down – because while Sam can _pretend_ to give Dean this privacy, he does want to know what Dean says.

"Invasion of the Body Snatchers**_, _**yeah – Sam called me for backup, it's happening at his school and -" Dean glances at the television absently, and then goes abruptly quiet. Sam actually sees what he's looking at on the screen. The news has always been a barrier of bad news, of the bad side of everything, like miserable real people want to imagine that this is real life and as bad as it gets – that's a lie, a delusion, like the way they _don't see_ the real monsters in the dark and this is their way of fooling themselves.

"Bobby," Dean shocks him, sounding so broken - his world falling apart, 'the job' he's worked all his life has just twisted up on him; it hurts Sam to hear that dissonance in his brother's voice. It's like Dean thinks there isn't any hope, they've already won – but Sam won't let them, and he'll make sure Dean doesn't give up on them.

"Turn on the news, channel twelve, are you seeing what I am?" Dean asks like he's hoping he's seeing things.

"_Humanitarian_, but those aren't humans – look at their eyes, the silver rings in-between the pupil and the iris – it's them, the pod people. My god, Bobby, how long has this been going on?" Dean tears his eyes away from the screen, the announcements at the bottom, of hunger aide, and elderly care, and new breakthroughs in medical fields. It's all positive in a way the news and people can't be when they try to be honest about how bad the world is and lie to themselves at the same time.

"Yeah, yeah, I got a pen and paper - Harvelle's Roadhouse, huh? Alright, we'll meet you there." Dean doesn't ever say _goodbye_, call it a hunter superstition – or just a Dean one, but Sam doesn't think he's ever heard Dean outright say it or 'good night' or 'bye' over the phone. Dean isn't one to let go so easily. Saying 'bye' for him, it's too much like giving up and giving in and telling the person on the other end that they're dead in the end just like you.

"Get some sleep, Sam; we've got an early start tomorrow." Dean turns on the other bed, and Sam hears him undressing even if he doesn't look and Dean has his back to him. It makes it easier to say what's on his mind.

"Why'd you call Dad?" Sam asks, softly, though he knows Dean can hear him.

"We spilt up a while back, I took a hunt around here – Dad, well, you know how he is, he followed a led about Yellow Eyes." It strikes Sam that it's just like Dad to leave Dean to hunt on his own, to be so irresponsible with his son's life.

"Dad let you _hunt_ on your own?" Sam can't stop himself from saying, unable to hide the _disbelief_ and sickening opinion he now has for Dad, it's as low as Dean's is high.

"I'm twenty-six. You left, and Dad never babysat me before – why would he start now?" It's defensive, as Dean always is when Sam brings up Dad's failings and imperfections.

'_Your _job_ kills people – innocent people – every day, and hunters fall_!' Sam wants to say, but the protest dies behind his lips before it's spoken. Dean shouldn't be hunting without someone watching his back – Sam never imagined that Dad would let Dean go hunt alone; if it had ever occurred to Sam that that might end up being the case, and he knows that if he had known, he would have reconsidered leaving as he had.

"Dad hasn't checked in." Dean lets those words fall between them, and it's like saying '_he could be dead'_, Sam might not think much of Dad – but Dad has one rule he's _never_ broken, and that's checking in – even on a hunt where the mind-set demands a single-minded obsession – Dad _always_ checked in, no matter how late. He drilled into Dean's head that rule, so it's almost a law to the Winchesters, one that Sam never saw the wisdom or reason to disobey.

"He will." Sam says, because he has to believe that – and Dean needs to hear it.

With that reassurance ringing true between them, the stress of weeks of suspecting and looking for monsters in human disguise and trying to watch his own back and search out some proof for what had only been suspicions until recently, catches up with Sam. He falls asleep as he's listening to Dean's even breathing and waiting to hear if Dean would _talk_ to him.

He doesn't, and Sam falls asleep - safe.

Sam would almost regret a good nights sleep, regret not talking it out (or outright fighting) if it weren't for the fact that in a half-rate motel room, he'd felt _truly safe_ for the first time sense walking away from hunting with Dad and Dean. It's the difference in being alone, without Dean, and having Dean beside him, Sam knows and acknowledges as he wakes up with the sunlight spilling into the window.

When he opens his eyes, Dean is smirking at him, having pulled the curtain open so the sun would wake him.

"Rise and shine, Sammy...!" Sam groans and burrows his head under the pillow for momentary respite. Dean laughs and where his brother can't see, Sam rolls his eyes – only then peering up Dean. Sam wonders if Dean really did get any sleep, and if he has, or hasn't, Sam can't tell – and that bothers him, that he can't read his own brother anymore, he covers it with annoyance – that's real, but it's self directed rather then at Dean's antics.

"Did you even sleep?" Sam doesn't know why he asks, because Dean has never answered him when it concerns his own health – as if it shouldn't matter to anyone, not even Sam – as if Dean should be the only one to worry about himself, even if he's always worrying over Sam about the littlest thing.

Dean shrugs and it's with a certain familiarity that they move together to clear out of the motel room. It's a unity that Sam's not surprised he so badly missed, the rest of the day passes surreal - it's _déjà vu_ - as if Sam never left for college, and in it's own way it's disturbing for Sam, that they avoid that gapping chasm between them, the yawning void that threatens to swallow them whole if they acknowledge it.

Sam unconsciously trusts Dean to have his back, because Dean has always done it and that's the way it's always been between them – but Dean, he used to trust Sam to watch out for him, to return the favor. It strikes Sam that maybe Dean is hard to read, not because Sam's forgotten how to do it, or is out of practice, but because Dean doesn't want Sam to see any sign of how he feels.

Sam knows the Dean from before, but this Dean is a familiar stranger to him; Sam is confidant that he can do this, he can learn how to know Dean like he did – but if he does, Sam doesn't know if he'll leave.

Sam wonders if Dean thinks that _Sam's_ changed. Dean doesn't show it if he does, but then Dean isn't one to express his thoughts and emotions openly, save for what signs and hints Sam learned to look for. Sam used to be able to read every subtle expression and mannerism, but they've changed – or maybe, and the thought is troubling and comforting all at once – Sam can relearn to read the signs.

Dean's changed – and probably so has Sam – but some things remain the same.

A sang that never rings truer then when Dean doesn't think anything of answering his phone while driving.

"Dad…?" Dean glances to Sam, as if he isn't sure if his younger brother approves, Sam tries very hard not to show an outward expression, of course Dean's expression closes off, shutters, no one knows Sam like his brother.

A brow furrowing in a way that makes Sam concerned despite himself, Dean silently listens, and Sam wonders what orders Dad is giving. The phone cuts off, and Dean plays with it – and Sam can only tense, eyes raised to the road, ready to shout a warning if the empty road offers a challenge while Dean is distracted, but it doesn't, it never does such is Dean's luck – the conversation, or lack of it - plays for Sam to fill the silence.

It's Dad, and more – static.

Dean plays it backward, and Sam gets chills; a woman's voice, pleading for home, a ghost…probably what Dad's after. Sam closes his eyes, and wonders what Dad's gotten into now, in the middle of an alien invasion no less. It never fails; really, whatever Dad's after is probably in the middle of everything else.

Dean looks to Sam again, as if he's willing to obey Sam's orders now that they can't reach Dad, Sam doesn't want that responsibility, and Dean's life should be his own.

"Where is he?" Sam can't help but ask, staring at the phone as if it can tell him.

"Jericho, California." It let's Sam know that his family has mostly been staying in California, where Stanford is, where Sam is going to college. He isn't sure what to think about it, so he concentrates on the problem on hand – where to go.

"Where is this Harvelle's Roadhouse that Bobby wants us to go to?" Dean doesn't look away from the road as he answers.

"Nebraska." Sam slumps a little in his seat. It just had to be in the middle of America.

"Bobby's in South Dakota." Dean reminds him, as if Sam should have expected this – and he did, a little, because their lives have been one big road trip – or hunting trip, to be more accurate. Sam is all too afraid that if he slips back into the pattern, there will be no getting out – but he reminds himself of _worse_ things, namely aliens – and invasions.

Sam has been raised to kill impossible things, so while he is a bit overwhelmed with the fact of – hello – aliens from space, he doesn't think for a minute that they_ can't_ solve this.

Bobby would probably want them to go straight to Nebraska – from California – but Sam isn't used to such distances. A trip to Jericho is out of the way, but at least in-state. Dad might even be around there.

"Jericho it is then." Sam says, and Dean simply grins. It's good to see, Sam thinks.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

_Note_; the next chapter we'll be at the Roadhouse; skimming over Jericho to get their dad's hunting journal.


End file.
